Glory to Mankind (Nier Automata) ch 4

+++

The room was immense, a sprawling technological abyss concealed within the heart of the facility. Its walls, enshrouded in massive metallic structures and a labyrinth of intertwining pipes, were slick with a heavy coating of ice. The surfaces shimmered faintly under the dull hum of artificial light, reflecting the frozen tendrils of frost that clung desperately to the railings and machinery. Forgotten consoles and dormant control panels stood as silent witnesses to the relentless cold that had overtaken the space over countless years.

At the center of the chamber, a vortex of searing red energy pulsed ominously, crackling with violent arcs of power. Dark shards of metal floated weightlessly within its grasp, spinning lazily as if caught in an invisible current. The glow from the vortex bathed the room in an eerie light, casting strange reflections that made the ice appear alive, as if the room itself teetered on the cusp of two worlds—one of cold, unyielding history, and the other, something new and dangerous, waiting just beyond the swirling rift.

Devola paused in her work, her breath warm as it escaped her lips, and she rubbed her hands together, the friction sending a wave of heat coursing through her. Sometimes, she found herself questioning the necessity of sensory perception. These abilities, meant to enrich their existence, only seemed to complicate it—an inefficiency that served little purpose beyond distraction.

With a sharp exhale, she dismissed the thought and sank deeper into the layers of fabric draped around her body. Her attention snapped back to the console before her.

Anemone had reluctantly allowed them to work, but only under the condition that she and Jackass observe them. The idea of being monitored unsettled Devola—she hated the feeling of being watched, especially while concentrating on delicate tasks. It felt intrusive, as though the sanctity of her work had been violated. But if that was the price for keeping the others from protesting the "cursed ones" interfering with sensitive systems, then she'd endure it.

"I s-should have g-gone with P-Popola," Jackass muttered, her teeth chattering incessantly, a rapid staccato that cut through the cold. She stood at a distance, wrapped in layers of clothing, her arms clutched around herself in a futile attempt to fend off the chill.

"Jackass, please," Devola replied, her tone as steady as she could manage, though frustration simmered beneath her calm exterior.

"Why a-aren't y-you freezing?" Jackass stammered, her body shaking with each violent tremor.

Devola glanced at her, indifferent. "Magic," she replied flatly. "A warming spell is all it takes."

It was a potent spell she had cast—powerful enough to make her feel as though she were strolling through summer, even in the heart of an arctic wasteland.

But...

"What? D-Do me too!" Jackass groaned, impatience mingling with the biting cold in her voice.

Devola sighed internally, her irritation tempered by the need to maintain control. She raised her hand with deliberate ease, the air around her seeming to hum with energy as a glowing circle appeared at her fingertips. Symbols flickered within the circle, pulsing like the rhythmic beat of a heart. Under her breath, she murmured a quiet incantation. Jackass blinked, and the light enveloped her, warmth flooding her frozen form.

"I still feel cold," Jackass noted, her teeth still chattering despite the warmth.

Devola, unfazed, leaned closer to the console, her focus unwavering. "That spell is to resist the cold, not make you immune," she explained. "The fact that it works here means..." She paused, her eyes drawn upward.

Jackass's boots crunched over the frozen floor as she approached, her curiosity piqued. "Means what?"

Devola's gaze remained fixed on the glowing red orb in the distance. "That red orb... it's maso. Pure, concentrated magic, contained within a self-sustaining engine."

"A perpetual motion engine?" Jackass ventured, attempting to make sense of it.

"Of sorts," Devola grunted. "The generator's power was reserved for life support. Other systems in the facility relied on nuclear power."

Jackass's face went pale. Despite her advanced design, she wasn't immune to the destructive force of a nuclear explosion. A small, twisted part of her almost thought that a nuclear blast would be... impressive.

Devola seemed to read her thoughts. "Don't worry about that. This place ran out of fuel a long time ago."

Jackass shuddered visibly, her lips trembling. "Good thing they hooked the life support to the magic thingie instead of... you know."

An unspoken chill crept up their spines as they shared a glance.

"Wait," Jackass hesitated. "I get the magic part, but how come the facility hasn't fallen apart? Nothing lasts that long."

Devola leaned in closer, wiping away the layers of ice on the console. She extended her finger toward Jackass, a knowing gleam in her eye. "I think it's this," she mused.

"The ice?" Jackass blinked, leaning in. Then, she understood. "No, the magic, innit?"

"Yes," Devola nodded. She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. "That is just a guess however. But considering what we see now, it's the likeliest explanation. I-" She corrected herself. "We will have to thaw our creators first to know more."

Jackass preened. "That will involve thawing them out first." 

"Correct," Devola nodded, her excitement barely concealed. So many questions rushed through her mind, each more urgent than the last. She—

But then the weight of it hit her again, sharp and unrelenting. She was responsible for Gestalt's failure. She and Popola. The destruction of a fragment of humanity, wiped out under their watch.

She didn't deserve to stand before the creators. She didn't deserve to meet their gaze.

She could only do her duty and hope, just hope, that would somehow make up for the past.

Jackass's voice cut through the silence, full of wonder and anticipation. "What do you think they'll be like when they wake up?" Her eyes gleamed like twin stars, brimming with hope. "Do you think they'll be proud of us? I mean, we haven't exactly taken the planet back, but we've kicked alien ass! Do you think they'd—"

She faltered, noticing the shift in Devola's expression. Her voice trailed off, and she glanced away, her excitement dimming.

"Sorry," she mumbled, an apology hanging awkwardly in the air.

Devola blinked, struggling to swallow the envy that burned deep within her. She could feel it, crawling up her throat, threatening to break free. But she forced a smile, masking the turmoil. "No, it's... it's alright," she lied, her voice sounding foreign even to herself. "You all did well. I can only hope my sister and I will be allowed to feel their touch."

Her throat tightened as she spoke the words, the weight of them sinking deeper than she cared to admit. "That... that would be enough."

Devola shook off the lingering thoughts, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. There were levels to adjust, power to redirect, things that required her full attention—things she could control.

But then, a warm hand settled on her shoulder. She blinked, startled, and turned to find Jackass's steady gaze meeting hers.

"I don't care what you and Popola did," Jackass said quietly, her tone firm. "When we get the humans out, you and her? You'll be the first to greet them. I'll make damn sure of it."

Jackass did not usually stay long at Camp. Her work often meant moving around, offering her services to sectors that needed shit blowing up. She knew about the Twins, how cursed they were. But with every return to camp, Jackass could only see talented androids that could fix things in a jiffy. They weren't bad either, as far as she could see. 

"W-what?" Devola blinked in confusion, completely caught off guard. Where was this coming from?

Jackass didn't back down, her eyes soft but determined. "Don't think I haven't noticed," she said, her voice low but resolute. "I see how the other androids treat you two. How hard things've been for you both. You deserve a break." She exhaled, as though this weight had been carried for too long. "And besides," she added with a small, knowing grin, "it's only proper that the Administrators greet our creators first, right?"

With a playful wink, Jackass gave a thumbs-up.

Devola stood frozen for a moment, trying to process Jackass's words. Her mind raced, but nothing seemed to fit together. Jackass's expression was so earnest, so sure—yet Devola couldn't shake the nagging feeling that this was just another attempt to make her feel better. Jackass was kind, in her own way, but Devola had learned not to trust gestures like these. They didn't fix anything. They didn't erase what had happened.

She glanced away briefly, her fingers pressing against the console as if the cold metal could ground her. Does she really mean it? she wondered. It felt too... simple. Too clean.

But Jackass was still looking at her, waiting, her smile wide and expectant. Devola could feel the heat of the moment settle between them, and though a small part of her wanted to reject the offer, she managed to swallow it down. There was no point in pushing away kindness when it was offered, even if she wasn't sure it was genuine.

"Th-thank you," Devola said softly, her voice strained. It felt like an awkward weight in her chest, but it was the only thing she could manage. "I… I appreciate it."

She looked back at Jackass, meeting her eyes for just a moment before her gaze dropped. "It's just... hard to believe," she murmured, barely above a whisper, before quickly turning back to the console, her fingers moving with purpose, as though the motion could distract her from the discomfort that gnawed at her insides.

Jackass stood there for a moment, watching Devola's reaction. She noticed the way her words hung in the air, the hesitation in Devola's voice, and how quickly she turned back to her work, as though the conversation never happened. Jackass didn't need to be told; she could feel it. Devola wasn't convinced. She was polite, sure, but there was a distance in her eyes that Jackass knew well.

But Jackass didn't call her out on it. She wasn't about to push—the Twins had been through enough. She knew how to back off when needed, and right now, all she wanted was for Devola to know someone had her back, even if she didn't quite believe it yet.

Jackass gave a soft chuckle, the warmth in her voice lingering despite the tension. "Yeah, I get it," she said, her tone casual, as if nothing was wrong. "I just thought you should know. No pressure, though. I'm not gonna make a big deal out of it."

She paused for a beat, letting the silence settle between them before she added, "Just… you know, if you ever need someone to, I dunno, yell at or something, I'm here."

Devola didn't respond at first, her focus still split between the console and the faint echo of Jackass's words. She could feel the quiet weight of the room settling in again, the hum of machinery and the soft, rhythmic tapping of her own fingers against the interface.

"Jackass," Devola finally said, her voice quieter than before. She glanced over her shoulder, just enough to meet the other android's gaze. "Thanks."

The words came out more easily this time, though they still felt foreign, like they didn't quite belong. She wasn't used to this kind of exchange—not when the only thing she'd known was duty, and the crushing weight of mistakes. But somehow, the sincerity in Jackass's words left something in her chest unclenched.

"Yeah," Jackass called back over her shoulder with a grin, this time without the usual playfulness. "You're welcome, Devola."

+++

A single leather-bound chair sat before a terminal, slightly worn but still upright, as if waiting for its next occupant. The soft glow from the monitors bathed the cold steel surroundings in an eerie light, pulsing with quiet efficiency. On the walls, posters depicted grandiose scenes—a man in a blue helm riding a motorcycle, skewering a winged shadow with a bayonet; another, a stylized warrior in armor, riding a horse and lancing a dragon.

But Popola barely noticed the imagery. Her task was far more pressing. She lounged casually on the Overseer's desk, fingers skimming the worn keys of the terminal. To her surprise, the ancient machine sputtered back to life with a low, mechanical whine. The screen flickered momentarily before the corporate logo appeared—Microsoft. The name stirred something in her, a faint whisper from a forgotten world buried beneath dust and ruin. But she pushed the thought away.

She exhaled slowly, watching the green glow of the terminal flicker in her eyes. The screen stabilized, and a bright blue insignia appeared, greeting her. She blinked, staring at the option to continue. A fleeting thought crossed her mind: Why is the system so eager to welcome me? But as her fingers danced across the keys, the answer became clear.

She was the key. She and her sister—they were the only ones with full access to the facility.

A pang of curiosity hit Popola. Why had this been the case? Why had they been kept in the dark about everything? She couldn't help but think how invaluable it would have been to know about the bunkers. All the years of ostracization and isolation, the pain of believing they had eradicated humanity, could have been erased in an instant.

Popola almost laughed. All that suffering, all that guilt gnawing at her and her sister, thinking they'd wiped out humanity. Only to have their creators reveal themselves first on the Moon, and now hidden away under the sands after all this time.

She understood why her creators had hidden themselves. It wasn't as though they had the luxury of leaving whenever they wished. But that didn't answer the question—Why hide? Why wait so long?

"I've been wondering," a voice broke the silence.

Popola didn't look up from her work, her eyes scanning the streams of data flashing across the screen. While it would take a human hours—maybe days—to sift through it all, Popola comprehended the information in a nanosecond. But then she paused, shaking her head as her gaze shifted to Anemone, who stood before the wall of posters, her eyes fixed on them in quiet contemplation.

"Why did our creators hide themselves here, buried so deep in the sand?" Anemone asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

Popola's fingers hovered over the keys for a moment, processing the question. The answer came swiftly, but she still hesitated before responding. "I don't know," she admitted with a slight shrug. "The most likely reason is that they needed to hide from the Legion. But Project Gestalt... that was..." She trailed off, biting her lip.

Gestalt had been designed to be humanity's last hope for survival.

Sensing the shift in Popola's mood, Anemone quickly changed the subject. "The quickest way to find out is to ask them, I suppose," she said, clearing her throat. "What are the chances of that happening anytime soon?"

"R-Right," Popola stammered, shaking her head as she refocused. Her fingers resumed their swift dance across the keyboard. "This facility runs on a maso generator, but the rest of the place uses more conventional methods—nuclear power."

"And since most of this place is dead, the reactors have long since run dry?" Anemone guessed. Popola nodded.

"Exactly. We'll need to replace them first if we want to power up the rest of the facility," Popola replied briskly.

"And our creators?" Anemone pressed, impatience creeping into her voice.

"Well... we can thaw out a few," Popola said, her eyes flicking back to the computer screen. "Protocol dictates that the command staff must come first. However, I must insist we restore the nuclear reactors first. We can't bring the rest of this facility online without them, Anemone."

Anemone's gaze narrowed. "You realize getting nuclear material isn't exactly a simple task, right?" she replied dryly. "Securing supplies from above is hard enough. Asking for radioactive material? That's bound to attract unwanted attention, Popola."

Popola's fingers tightened around the edges of the console as she shot back, "And what do you think will happen if we thaw them out, and the Command Staff realizes there's no power? They'll find a way to restore this place themselves."

Anemone's lips pressed into a thin line. Internally, logic and desire fought. A part of her bristled at the idea of sharing responsibility with anyone, at trusting anyone else with such crucial tasks. Moving sensitive materials was always a risk—one that would inevitably raise suspicion. An inquiry would follow, and that would lead them straight to the progenitors. She could argue with Popola about redirecting power from the maso generator to other systems, but that would deprive the cryo pods of power. No, that was unthinkable.

She inhaled deeply, forcing herself to stay calm.

"Fine," she muttered, her voice heavy with reluctance. "I'll make the call."

And she knew exactly who to contact.

Popola exhaled in relief, but Anemone hid the jealousy burning beneath her skin. She pressed on, her tone colder. "Can you at least give me some insight into the rest of this facility?"

Popola nodded, her expression turning analytical. "At least we don't have to worry about immediate needs. The system reports enough food and water for a year," she said, her voice trailing off. "Though, I'm unsure of the quality, considering this facility's been dormant for over a thousand years."

"I'll try and secure a supply line," Anemone sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"I'll provide a list of what they'll need," Popola said, nodding. "The bunker was designed for long-term habitation. There are hydroponics rooms, a water treatment plant, and all the amenities a human would require." Her fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard. "It seems they anticipated a world completely under the control of the Legion."

"Good thing the Legion doesn't exist anymore," Anemone muttered, a bitter edge to her voice.

"Not the Legion," Popola countered. "Just aliens instead."

Anemone's expression darkened. "They can't stay here."

"No," Popola agreed softly. "But until facilities are built for them in space, or perhaps until the Council of Humanity relocates them to the Moon, they'll have to stay on Earth." She chuckled lightly. "It's fortunate they're in the desert, though."

Anemone raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "How is that fortunate?"

"Because of its isolation," Popola replied, her voice steady and clinical. "We're nestled in a hidden valley, far from known machine sites. If anyone tries to make a move here, they'll be funneled through the valley. As long as we keep this place concealed, we'll be safe."

Anemone didn't respond immediately. She simply nodded, the weight of their situation settling over her like a heavy cloak. The desert, for all its desolation, offered them a fragile advantage. But then, something else occurred to her.

"The volumes of food we'll need... that will be noticeable," Anemone whispered. "It'll only be a matter of time before the Machines put two and two together."

"It won't seem strange, not if we obfuscate things," Popola replied quickly. "We already have a presence in the Desert Region. We rely on the oases to fuel our cores. It won't be odd for trucks to come and go."

"...I could try moving more troops to Camp. Justify the increased volume of water deliveries," Anemone mused.

"That could work," Popola nodded. "Now, the only thing left is nuclear material."

"...I'll get to it," Anemone said simply, turning to leave.

+++

A/N: Up next, White. 

In other news, Taiga is well. He has regained his voice, and has become active. I am going to have to bring him to the vet tomorrow for a final check up but I am utterly sure he is fine. Thank you so much to everyone that has supported him. He has a lease on life, thanks to you. Be proud, you saved a life.